


I Could Drink a Case of You

by 1000Needles



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 07:41:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8836105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000Needles/pseuds/1000Needles
Summary: Bored in Bhujerba, Basch enjoys an unexpected erotic encounter with Al-Cid and composes a ribald tune with Balthier.
This story was originally published May 2, 2007, in LiveJournal's ffxii-fic community. Spoilers through Balfonheim.





	

One swallow and you will know why they call them spirits.  
"Lose yourself in the first sip, find yourself in the second."

—from the description of a wine in the Bazaar catalog

 

"Sky pirate! More like arse pirate! Ha," brayed Al-Cid Margrace of Rozarria, appreciating his own witticism without even a pretense of self-effacing restraint. His tablemates laughed obediently.

Basch sighed and twisted a glass of pale white wine under chilled fingertips, regretting the obligation which had led him to attend this dull state dinner at Ondore's manor instead of pleading exhaustion and staying in for the night. Balthier, of course, had had no such compunctions about skipping the ceremonies and heading out with Fran to partake of Bhujerba's finest nightlife. And in his absence, Al-Cid was missing no conversational opening to make light of Balthier's supposed proclivities.

He doth protest too much, Basch thought wryly; but the Rozarrian was the sort of man who asserted himself via hyper-machismo, and he certainly had Ashe hanging on his every word. Sophisticated he might think himself, that Al-Cid, but the Rozarrians were a provincial lot. A provincialism which appealed to the princess, apparently.

Basch drained the wine and set the glass down just in time for an obsequious bangaa to swoop in with a fresh one. He couldn't let it affect his duty towards her, he reminded himself. She was Dalmascan royalty; he would give his life for her. If only she weren't so... predictable.

 

* * * * *

 

At the same time Basch was finishing his drink, Balthier was being served his fifth or sixth; he'd lost count, but the bar in front of him was crowded with empty vessels. The Cloudborne was raucous, miners shouting over each other to be heard, a gang of moogles in one corner jabbing away at their instruments and singing loudly in shrill voices. Balthier leaned a little unsteadily towards Fran and whispered, "You know, you make a most excellent wingman."

She really did. There was a thick congregation of women around them, all jockeying for a slice of the viera's attention. One particularly bold lass had pushed her way to the center and was trying to buy Fran a shot of madhu. The scoop of her blouse hung low, and she thrust her chest forward, well aware of her ripe attributes.

"Your eyes, they are beautiful," Fran commented with a grin.

Balthier slipped his arm around another girl's shapely waist. The din was becoming overwhelming. "Why don't we go back to my ship?" he murmured. "Get away from this mob—"

"Thank you, but no, bhadra," she said brightly, circling away to a better angle on Fran, who favored her with a long look of appreciation. Balthier rolled his eyes. Perhaps, he thought, he would have better luck with a wingman who was not quite so terribly attractive. Men and women alike, all attention in the Cloudborne was on Fran. Who could blame them?

 

* * * * *

 

Back in his room, Basch fingered his lute meditatively, coaxing out a quiet melody which pleased him, although a slight dissonance lingered between the chords; the strings needed to be changed. Not tonight, he hadn't the energy. A moogle could have played the song with more skill (how did they play so well, he wondered not for the first time, with those stubby paws of theirs?), but he'd written it and he supposed by virtue of ownership he could play it however he liked.

He hadn't gotten around to lyrics yet. He wasn't much of a singer, anyway. Perhaps he could enlist Penelo, he thought; she had a lovely singing voice, from what he'd heard of it, clear and fine.

There was a knock on his door and Balthier traipsed in. Basch dropped his fingers from the strings in startlement; Balthier reacted, pulling back.

"Oh, I am sorry," he said. "How stupid of me. I'm afraid I've got my directions all mixed up. This isn't my room, then?"

"No," Basch said. Balthier noticed the lute, then. Basch guessed he was a bit drunk; his timing was off.

"You play! I'd never have imagined that."

"Most don't," Basch said.

"With the macho thing, and all that," Balthier supplied cheerfully.

"The macho thing?" Basch asked with scorn. "What? Because I'm a knight? Because I slay wyrms? No more than you've slain, as far as I can tell, but no one's impugning your claim on a more sensitive side." He snorted. "So to speak." He went back to strumming the lute lightly.

Balthier was taken aback. "Perhaps this is an inconvenient time," he said, sweeping a deep bow. "Excuse me."

"Is that your best?" Basch replied, without looking up.

Balthier paused, laughed. "Oh, that is low. What troubles you, sir knight?" He swung himself easily into a chair. Basch admired his sang-froid. He himself grew rather rough around the edges after a few drinks. He'd paced himself tonight, since it was official business. Nothing like those nights out with Vossler before everything fell apart. It had been a long time since he'd let himself go like that.

"Nothing with which you need concern yourself, dear pirate," he said. Balthier grinned.

"'Tis to be the old class clash betwixt us, then? I assure you, my family line is nearly quite as sainted as your darling Ashe's."

"Tiresome," Basch said shortly. He was in no mood to argue politics.

"Touché. All right, what did I miss?"

Basch set the lute to one side with a sigh; it was clear that his somewhat inebriated companion had no intention of leaving soon. "Very little, I'm afraid. Al-Cid has designs on the princess. I fail to see why women find him so charming." He rummaged through his traveling-pack and removed a flask. If he was to endure this ridiculous conversation, he might as well avoid the discomfort of doing it sober.

Balthier lifted one immaculately-groomed eyebrow. "Ah, so the old Rozarrian charm has no effect on you? I rather agree. The fellow's awfully greasy for my tastes."

Basch filled his glass and took a long swallow. "You Archadians are such snobs."

"Class again. 'Tiresome' was your word, was it not?" Balthier cocked his head. "Play something for me."

"No." It came out a trifle harsher than Basch had intended, and he amended it quickly. "'Tis late. I would not wake the house."

"Cards, then?"

"We have an early morning tomorrow. I told the Marquis I'd aid him with some of the Lhusu fiends."

Balthier stood, brushing at his tight tanned-hide pants. "Well, then, I suppose I oughtn't detain you further. I'll see you at dinner tomorrow night."

Basch watched him go with a weird pang of disappointment. He wasn't sure why he'd put the other man off like that. But it was late, and he'd had far enough to drink already; it was a long day ahead.

 

* * * * *

 

After lengthy hours spent underground, mowing down skull-defenders with Ashe at his side, Basch found that any lingering anger towards her had disappeared. She was a pleasure with which to fight, for whether she wielded arrows or blade her eye was unerring, even in the dim light. Basch felt they'd both done a solid job of it, and the mines would be safer for a time. If only she had an eye to see through Al-Cid's flattery! As they trotted up the stairs into the sunlight, Basch thought of saying something, but reconsidered. The princess was far too stubborn to be swayed by anything he might say, and truth be told he would probably only set her mind on staying the course.

At the evening-table Fran was again absent, but Balthier slid into a seat and unfolded his napkin with a snap of the wrist. "Margrace," he said, nodding at Al-Cid.

"Bunansa," Al-Cid drawled in his customarily theatrical tone. "Plundered any tombs lately?"

"Oh, rather," Balthier said, lazily pushing back his cuffs and digging in to his plate. "You'd be surprised by the number of treasure-troves I've found in Bhujerba alone. It requires only clever fingers." He lifted a forkful to his mouth and waggled his other hand at Al-Cid.

The Rozarrian guffawed. "With fingers so prolific, I should hope they are also well-gloved. Some such vaults harbor often disease."

"One needs merely carry a trusty bone-helm," Balthier said, winking broadly. "I say, Margrace, how long has it been since you went a-hunting and won a trophy head?"

Al-Cid sneered. "Not so long, not so long. Of course the herd of quarry from which I hunt is only half so large as yours."

"And half so stimulating, I dare say."

Basch pushed his chair back and stood. "Excuse me," he said evenly. In the hall he snorted and began to walk faster. He could not have taken the ridiculous sparring between the Archadian and the Rozarrian for another moment, he thought. Why the two of them chose to act the part of such asses was beyond him.

He was in his room, filling out some papers Ashe had requested, when he heard a knock. "Yes?" he said. The door opened and Al-Cid came pouring into the room, somehow managing a smooth grace despite his obvious inebriation. He was wearing his sunglasses; inside, at night? Basch thought. What an absurd affectation.

"That ponce!" said Al-Cid by way of greeting, waving his hand dramatically as he fell into a chair. "I cannot fathom how you have been able to endure his obnoxiousness for such a long journey." He pulled the glasses up off his face and settled them casually in his hair.

Basch sighed and pushed his paperwork away. Pot, kettle, he thought. "He's an excellent shot. Good to have at one's back."

Al-Cid sniggered. Basch couldn't restrain himself any longer. "By the flaming balls of Belias, man, what is this fascination you have with Balthier Bunansa?"

"Ha! Hardly." As Basch uncapped his flask and filled a tumbler, Al-Cid took another from the shelf and reached it out, sinking back into the chair. Basch complied reluctantly. Ye gods, he thought, watching Al-Cid quaff long. I've got another drunken gentry on my hands.

Al-Cid wiped his mouth and grinned. "If anything, it's you I'm fascinated by, fon Ronsenburg."

Basch choked on his whiskey. Al-Cid lifted himself from the chair and advanced with all the confidence of the well-lubricated. "Surely you find me desirable," he said, stumbling as he spoke, and Basch laughed; the man was so vain. Did he expect Basch to turn arse-up for him? Then, to his surprise, he saw Al-Cid drop to his knees and reach for Basch's trousers. Basch found himself eyeing the man speculatively before he pushed his hands away. Al-Cid was undeniably handsome, in a louche fashion, and the idea of ramming his prick down the other's arrogant throat held a certain appeal.

"You're drunk," Basch said bluntly.

Al-Cid sat back on his haunches and lifted his dark eyes. "And why should that stop you?"

"'Twould be dishonorable to take advantage of you in such a state," Basch said. Not to mention the fact that you're sadly conflicted, he thought. He had known soldiers like this, who spoke loud their disgust of men such as Balthier, then wanted nothing more than a good stiff cock when they were in their cups. He had only contempt for such duplicity.

"No one need know," said Al-Cid, misunderstanding Basch's reluctance. He leaned forward and nuzzled Basch's groin. Basch felt his cockstand growing. It had been a long time. Al-Cid rubbed his chin against the other's erection and looked up, dark waves falling around his face. "Let me bring you off," he murmured, sultry.

And the man was wooing Ashe just the night before! He would warn her in the morn, Basch thought. "I would rather take my pleasure of you from behind," he said, curious to see Al-Cid's reaction. He was only somewhat surprised when Al-Cid breathed quicker and began to unbutton Basch's fly.

"Whatever you desire," the Rozarrian said thickly.

"I desire that you stop this instant," said Basch. A wave of lust swept him. "On your feet, and let's see if you're too drunk to stand."

Al-Cid paused, confused, and then struggled to his feet obediently. He stood straight, without swaying, and Basch thought he was not quite so intoxicated as he had made out to be. For men such as Al-Cid there needs must be rationalizations, of course.

"Strip," said Basch.

Al-Cid's eyes widened, and then he was pulling off his blouse, revealing a firm, hirsute torso. He began to undo his trousers, the immaculate white fabric straining at the groin.

"Stop." Oh, you aren't doing this, Basch thought. Not to a ruler of Rozarria. He said: "Let me see you play with your nipples."

A flush spread across Al-Cid's dusky features. He raised his hands awkwardly to his chest. Basch was disturbed to find he was enjoying the other's discomfort; or, rather, he thought he ought to have been disturbed, but the scene playing out before him was so immediately compelling that he could not rouse his conscience.

"Harder," he said. Al-Cid rolled the buds between his fingers and groaned. "This is why you came here tonight, is it not? To put yourself at my pleasure?"

"Yes… my lord." Basch wanted to laugh, and then he did, realizing there was no need to restrain himself. Submission hiding under all that haughtiness!

"And what of the princess? Harder."

"Nnngh. That was… diplomacy… only. My lord." Al-Cid's cheeks were bright, and he was breathing in short gasps.

"That's enough. At ease." You could end this now, Basch thought. Send him away. His erection was aching deliciously. "Remove your trousers."

The creamy cloth pooled around Al-Cid's ankles, and he stepped out of it, still graceful in his humiliation. Basch took in the naked figure before him with an appraising gaze. Al-Cid was well built, lithe and muscled. "Turn around," he said. The other complied. His arse was furred and shapely, and even in the shaming position Al-Cid had struck a little pose to show it to the best advantage. You conceited bastard, Basch thought. I am going to enjoy this.

The room was hot; Basch had lit a fire in the grate hours earlier, and the magick flames were still burning high. Basch took a long swallow of whiskey. He would see this through.

"On the bed," he said. Al-Cid knelt on the blankets, on his hands and knees. Basch dug into his pack and found a phial of potion. He tossed it. "Ready yourself."

Al-Cid hesitated; Basch wished he could see his face. Then he picked up the tiny container, opened it, poured the silky substance into one cupped hand; reached behind, to his spread cheeks, and slid a moist palm across his hole. "I think you will want more preparation than that," Basch said. An exhilarating thrill ran through him as Al-Cid clumsily inserted a finger into himself. "Another."

"My lord—" said Al-Cid, his voice shaking. But he did as he was told.

Basch stood then and went to him. He put his hands on the man's hips. The bronze skin was soft and yielding. No soldier, this, but a spoiled aristocrat. Basch would wager Al-Cid had never worked a day in his life. He yanked, pulling the other back so his hips hung over the bed. The man braced his toes against the floor. Basch undid his breeches, slinging his heavy cock into his fist; it was leaking fluid, engorged and hungry.

He placed the head at Al-Cid's entrance and gave an experimental push. Al-Cid cried out. The sound roused Basch's blood and he shoved himself in to the root. Al-Cid's glasses fell off and landed beside the bed. The resistance was wonderful, the man's muscles grabbing all at once around Basch, and he began dragging himself out again, savoring the other's sharp exhalations. He set himself to a slow but steady pace. He did not think he would last long – he was woefully out of practice – but he was determined to hold out as long as possible.

Al-Cid was grunting rapidly as they sawed together. "May I—"

"You may not," Basch managed, feeling his balls tighten, and then with one last thrust he exploded into the other, his belly slick with sweat on the other man's back. Al-Cid came anyway without touching himself, fisting the blankets and gasping.

Basch leaned there, his prick softening inside Al-Cid's body, and after a moment removed himself. He found a length of toweling in a linen-cupboard and wiped himself clean, threw the cloth onto the bed. Al-Cid raised himself and rubbed at the blankets.

"I've messed your bed. My apologies," he said, sounding rather more like his usual self, as suave as he could be in such a situation. He stood and pulled on his trousers. "The servants will send fresh bedding if you ring."

Basch said nothing, already beginning to regret the encounter. He foresaw uncomfortable dinners ahead. Al-Cid finished dressing and threw him a cocky smile; they could have just shared a game of cards. "I take my leave, Captain." He strode out; the door closed behind him. Basch took a chair and sighed. The man might as well have tossed gil on the desk. He had only done Al-Cid's bidding after all.

 

* * * * *

 

The third evening, both Fran and Balthier appeared at dinner. Basch had considered concocting an excuse, but he knew his absence would show a weakness he preferred not to reveal. He had said only, "Your excellency," inclining his head, and Al-Cid had answered, "Captain," before turning his attention to Ondore. Basch had not yet spoken to Ashe, but Al-Cid seemed uninterested in her conversation tonight. Basch thought the man would save further wooing for when her knight was not present.

"Balthier tells me you play music," Fran said, buttering a piece of bread.

"Does he," Basch said, lifting a brow at Balthier, who looked slightly embarrassed.

"I tell her everything," he said.

"The music of humes, I quite enjoy myself," said Fran. She bit into the bread with evident relish, chewed and swallowed. "We viera have little tradition of such. 'Tis a marvelous technick."

 

* * * * *

 

Basch was changing the strings of his lute when there was a knock at his door. He considered silence, but said, "Come in." It was Balthier, with a bottle of wine.

"I thought I might bribe you into playing for me."

Basch gestured to his instrument, the second-to-last string missing. "I'm afraid you've caught my lady at an inopportune time. She is sorely in need of new strings."

Balthier pointed his chin to the chair by the fire. "Would it be too terribly distracting if I kept you company while you serve her needs? It's fine Nabradian red I bring; I have been told it is an noble vintage, and I would appreciate your opinion."

"Gladly," said Basch, meaning it honestly, to his surprise. "There are glasses on the shelf."

Balthier popped the cork and filled a pair of goblets, the stems between the fingers of his left hand, cradling the globes in his palm. He set the bottle on the desk and passed a glass to Basch. Basch sipped, put the glass on the floor, wound a fresh string on the key, tightened it.

"Where did you learn to play?" asked Balthier, reclining in the chair.

"My mother loved music," Basch said. He pried the last string out of its housing and wrapped it round his finger, then tossed the coil to Balthier. "A souvenir for you, pirate."

Balthier slid it onto a finger and laughed. "Another ring! Not quite so colorful as my others, but it will serve."

Basch placed the last string over the frets. "Why do you linger at such an early hour? Have you and Fran tired of Bhujerba's delights already?"

"Mmm. Truth be told, Captain, I am not such an aficionado of the night-life as my reputation may have led you to believe. You think me frivolous, I know."

"I don't," Basch said mildly, tightening the final string and plucking it as he tuned it against the others.

"Well, I've brought words for your song. If you play, I will sing."

Basch looked up from the lute. "You write?"

"What, is that so difficult to imagine? Because I'm a pirate? Because I divide my time between thievery and kidnapping?" He said it with a perfectly straight face and Basch could not help but smile.

"Very well, then, you have bribed me quite sufficiently," he said, and began to play.

Balthier's voice was a rich tenor.

"'Twas a fine sunny day in Balfonheim,  
The Strahl was in dock and it would be a crime  
For a moogle to miss out on liberty time  
The day Gurdy said 'Yes, yes,' to Nono.

"'Gurdy,' said he, 'Come away with me,  
'We'll picnick on the shores of the Naldoan Sea  
'And thereafter a-fucking like bunnies we'll be.'  
The day Gurdy said 'Yes, yes,' to Nono.

"'Oh, no,' said Gurdy, 'you silver-tongued scamp,  
'I'm a respectable lass, not some skyfaring tramp!'  
And she hit him right over the head with a lamp,  
The day Gurdy said 'Yes, yes' to Nono.

"Now Nono appreciates a skillful right hook  
So he gave Gurdy quite a lascivious look  
And she blushed a bright red from her head to her nook,  
The day Gurdy said 'Yes, yes,' to Nono.

"'What say you a wager?' asked the clever technician.  
'I'll hop onto one of your overgrown chickens  
'And race for the prize of a Eruyt-lace ribbon.'  
The day Gurdy said 'Yes, yes,' to Nono.

"'Very well. If you win, you shall have me in bed,'  
Said the chocobo mistress, and she shot off ahead.  
'Good thing I've a shortcut to the palace,' he said,  
The day Gurdy said 'Yes, yes,' to Nono.

"Gurdy swore he had cheated to get there so soon  
But that night she was singing a different tune  
As he plowed her she shouted 'Yes, yes,' like a loon!  
The day Gurdy said 'Yes, yes,' to Nono."

Balthier stopped singing. Basch dropped his hands from the lute, threw back his head, and laughed long.

"All so bad as that, was it?" said Balthier, and sipped from his wine. "I deem this rather tasty; what do you think?"

Basch took a draught from his own glass. "The wine is quite to my liking, and so are you, pirate. You've made me laugh, and I thank you for that."

"Been a while, has it?" said Balthier, and his tone was sly.

"Too long," said Basch. He looked at Balthier, who sat quite relaxed, slouched back in the chair, one leg thrown over the other, his wineglass resting elegantly between two fingers. Balthier's usually impeccable coif was slightly mussed and a lock of hair hung down over his forehead. Basch ached suddenly to touch it, to run his hand down the man's graceful jawline. This was nothing like the shameful contemptuous lust he'd felt for Al-Cid the night last. Balthier was more like some exotic work of art; Basch felt it would be almost profane to touch him, and yet he longed to do exactly that. He took another drink of the Nabradian wine and the spicy, smoky taste of it set his mouth afire with desire. It was only the wine, he thought. He was a little drunk, perhaps.

 

* * * * *

 

Balthier looked back at Basch. He thought it was the man's utter unawareness of his own physicality that made him so appealing. Sun-bleached hair loose about his open and guileless face, the fair northern skin, that irresistible curve of bicep. Balthier's reputation belying the truth, he had not lain with another man in quite some time. Tavern-wenches in every port, surely, often shared between Fran and himself, but he could not recall the last man who had stirred him so. "Too long," he echoed, not realizing he had meant to say it until the words were already in the air. He was on his feet—

 

* * * * *

 

Basch was on his feet, moving towards Balthier with a yearning he had not fully apprehended until the other man stood. They met and Basch cupped his hands to either side of Balthier's face, marveling at the silken touch of the other's skin under his callused fingertips. Balthier stroked his hands down Basch's bare upper arms. Their mouths met in an intoxicating clash of lips and teeth, harder than Basch had intended but oh so ripe and decadently juicy, Balthier's tongue tasting of wine and something more-- himself, Basch thought, the essence of Balthier himself, a heady vintage.

"I give you my word, I came here intending only to seduce your lady," Balthier murmured as they broke their kiss. Basch ran his fingers over the rough brocade of Balthier's vest.

"And so you did. I trust she provided full compensation?"

"She did. But 'tis now her master of whom I require satisfaction," said Balthier. He took a hank of Basch's hair, tugged lightly; the pressure sent a wave of pleasure down Basch's spine. Basch swept his arm around Balthier's waist and threw him on the bed.

"I have desired you since first I laid eyes upon you," he said, straddling Balthier, unfastening the man's vest with a delicacy that amazed him; his fingers felt as thick as sausages. He would have rent the clothing from the other's body if he had not still been so awed by the beauty beneath him. Balthier, he thought, looked as if he were carved out of some fine stone. He laid a series of kisses along the man's neck, finishing with a gentle bite to his clavicle.

Balthier twisted with all the ease of a coeurl, landing Basch underneath. "You! You have been ignoring me since we met. How many times have I suggested an evening together, only to be put off with excuses of early mornings and knightly duties?"

Basch stared up into Balthier's clear eyes. It was odd to be so pinned. "I am a fool. Forgive me."

"Forgiveness, forgiveness," Balthier murmured. "How shall I take my pleasure of you?"

Basch set his hands on the other's hips. "I prefer it rather the other way round. Are we at an impasse?"

Balthier considered. "We are, if you are too narrow-minded to open yourself to other possibilities."

Basch was astonished to feel a slow melt stealing down his skin. He tilted back his chin and breathed deep. "I am not so unadventurous as you might imagine."

Balthier kissed him, long and hard, and his cock asserted itself against the other's stomach, aching deliciously. Balthier pulled away and smiled, sliding himself against Basch, wriggling out of his formfitting pants, making a perfect moue of bliss as he watched Basch sigh beneath him. He settled back on his haunches and began to unbuckle Basch's trews; then, moving up to straddle his body, stroked him briefly with a slick hand before settling easily on his stiff prick. Basch gasped as Balthier lowered himself with exquisite slowness, looking him in the eye the whole time and grinning brazenly.

"I… understood… you wished it the other way," Basch breathed, resting his hands on Balthier's lean waist. "Not that I am complaining, you realize."

"Was it not you who commented on the earliness of the hour?" Balthier said. "Consider this merely the first course." He began to ride Basch more quickly, his palms devouring Basch's taut musculature, the firm arcs and lines of his chest and abdomen. Basch groaned, a sound that felt wrung right out of him; the unfamiliar combination of passivity and penetration was a taste as piquant as mangos and Bancour spice.

Balthier was sweating lightly, rocking above Basch, his earrings jingling. "Remarkable stamina, Captain."

"I'm reciting the ancestral tree of the Dalmascan royal house for all I'm worth," Basch said, and slipped his hands up Balthier's sides, admiring the sinewy build.

Balthier stretched forward and raked his fingers through Basch's hair. "If you're still capable of such mental exertions, then clearly my physical exertions are not up to snuff." He increased his pace and Basch knew he could hold back no longer. His hips lifting, buttocks tightening, he felt his whole head suffused with a warmth of color and sound which swept away all conscious thought. He came, panting; when he opened his eyes, the other man was watching with satisfaction.

"A face well worth waiting for," Balthier said.

Basch grasped Balthier by the shoulders and pulled him down to his mouth. He sucked Balthier's firm lower lip between his teeth, bit lightly. Balthier slid his tongue against Basch's. They grappled, both flushed and damp and breathless. Then Balthier sat up.

"I want more wine," he said.

Basch sprawled back and watched him walk to the table. Not a stitch of clothing on him, and the man looked as elegant as if he were off to attend a palace ball. Basch was still tangled in his own garments, his vest open over his bare chest and his short trews pushed half-down his thighs. His cock lay soft and content on his leg. He stroked it lazily as Balthier poured two glasses.

"Do you have any idea what a delightful picture that makes, fon Ronsenburg?" Balthier said as he strode back to the bed with a glass in each hand. Basch accepted one, swirled the dusky red liquid before drinking.

"Not half so delightful as the picture of yourself," he said. "This wine has marvelous legs, but yours surpass it by far."

Balthier lifted his brows. "What flattery! I did not suppose you capable of such honeyed words, Captain."

"I still have some surprises left," Basch murmured. He set his glass by the bed, took Balthier's from his hand and put it beside the other. "Here is one: I have never had another man within me. Would you teach me of that pleasure?"

"Oh, gladly," Balthier responded, baring his teeth in a broad smile, and he wrestled Basch to the ground.

 

* * * * *

 

They were on their hands and knees on the velvety carpet, Balthier on Basch's back, fucking him violently against the floor, and Basch had to brace himself hard with his palms just to keep his balance. Neither of them had breath this time for conversation. Despite his earlier orgasm, Basch was building quickly to a second climax. He gritted his eyes shut and tried to forestall it as long as possible.

Balthier breathing fast and short and shallow in his ear; the man's strong thighs slapping his arse with every stroke; the redolence of sex and sweat and musk and wine – Basch felt his balls begin to clench and cried out, "Balthier—!"

The other man plunged into him, gripping his hips, shuddering fiercely. When he felt Balthier throbbing inside him Basch finally relaxed his control and came, collapsing to the carpet, his cock erupting against the textured surface. Balthier fell on top.

When he had somewhat recovered himself, Basch said, "I did not think I would enjoy it so, thus." He stretched against the carpet, Balthier's prick still buried within him. "You've taught me something new tonight, pirate."

"I aim to please," Balthier said. He rolled to one side, holding Basch against himself, and touched Basch's stomach, brought a finger to his mouth. Basch twisted his head to see Balthier delicately licking the spunk away as if it were cream. "I could drink a case of you, Captain."

Basch marveled to feel his cock stir so; he might have been sixteen again. "Such an occasion could certainly be arranged in future. Tonight I am afraid you have quite tapped me dry already."

Balthier chuckled and nipped the tip of Basch's ear. Then he reached out over Basch's head, picking up something which lay just under the bed. "What is this?"

Al-Cid's sunglasses. Basch froze and felt his face start a slow burn. Balthier began to laugh.

"You merry dog! Now I see from whence your staying-power this eve."

Basch dropped his head to his folded forearms. "I suppose you shall tell Fran the whole of this."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," said Balthier, and brushed Basch's hair aside to drop a kiss upon the nape of his neck.


End file.
